An Overt Op

Continuation to The Conversation. Readers requested to read the previous post first. Hope you all like this one

Loco looked at Gloria’s retreating figure and sighed. Then he leaned back in his seat and looked at the man at the next table.

The man looked back. They both nodded at each other. Then the man came over and joined Loco at his table.

“Latte duet, huh?” he said, sniffing Gloria’s cup.

“Thanks for waiting,” Loco responded.

“In deference to the lady.” Bane said. “When did you spot me?”

“Oh, you I spotted the minute you walked in. Your seven Expendables took me some ten minutes to find,” Loco’s eyes had narrowed to slits as he stared at Bane.

Bane grinned.

“Guess you haven’t been exactly idle all this while?”

Loco smiled and shook his head. His mind flashed back to a few minutes ago.

“Yes we are,” he leaned forward and for the first time, looking into her eyes didn’t affect him. His hand slowly reached over to his cell phone, which he had placed on the table.

“Seven years…” Bane reflected. “We’ve been doing this dance for seven years…”

“And I always flee after stepping on your toes,” Loco said, smiling his cheekiest smile.

“Yes, we are cold blooded, ruthless killers. But only with those who come to kill us.”

Surreptitiously, he unlocked the keypad and dialed 7 – the speed-dial number to call for back up in case of any emergency. His fingers moved quickly as he held Gloria’s gaze.

“Not this time. I’ve got you surrounded.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“With those who have killed scores and wouldn’t even look at us as numbers in their list of victims. With them, we are their worst nightmare.”

Accessing an application, he sent the co-ordinates of his location to the local cell in the city, all the time not even looking at his cell phone once.

A pulse began to throb in Bane’s forehead.

Loco pulled his legs closer under the table, ready to spring.

“Some of us have wives, some have kids, others ailing parents. And we tell them all we can tell them, and they understand. They have to.”

The backup would either be a team from the nearest police station or, if that took too long, anonymous men in unmarked cars.

Bane’s hand moved to his jacket. Loco stole a speedy glance at Bane’s men sitting a various tables and saw them follow suit. The sounds around him dimmed into a hum as his mind focused.

He jolted forward, grabbed Bane by his lapels and pulled him close. Bane, surprised and cursing, slid over the table towards Loco, knocking cups and cutlery off the table. The two men came to rest on the ground in an awkward bear hug.

“Shall we dance?” Loco whispered in Bane’s ear and started rolling. His men could only point their guns as the duo rolled toward the kitchen of the open-air café. Loco reached the kitchen door, drew his Desert Eagle, and shot one of Bane’s men nearest to him. The .44 caliber round crashed into the thug’s face at close quarters, taking away most of it.

The gunshot gave Loco the confusion he wanted. As customers sprang out of their seats and started running and screaming, Loco sprang up and rushed to the kitchen, firing a couple of more rounds in his wake, sending Bane crawling for cover. His men could only get a few shots off while trying to avoid hitting the civilians.

***

Three blocks away, Gloria heard the guns go off from the direction of the café.

‘Loco!’ she thought.

Hefting Gideon’s rucksack over her shoulder, she turned and ran back.

***

“Is there a back door?” Loco snapped at the frightened cook. The man could only nod as his helpers looked on, cowering.

“Well, get out then! All of you!” he roared as he slammed the front door behind him and pushed a stool against the lock, jamming it. He risked a peek out of the window while the men ran out and saw Bane and his men take positions behind overturned tables. He then rolled over to the back door and jammed it shut as well.

“You feel it yet?” Gideon’s voice whispered his ear.

“I’m getting there, buddy,” he growled as he body slammed into autopilot.

Take position under window ledge. Check ammo clip. Five rounds. Check for spare clips. Two in each ankle holster. Whirl around. Find target. Fire. One down.

Swivel. Find target. Fire. Missed. Fire again. Got him.

Two rounds remaining. Fire them at Bane trying to crawl over to the door. Send the bugger scampering back.

Eject. Draw clip from left ankle holster. Reload.

***

Gloria pushed against the throng of people trying to run out of the square and came to a stop meters away from the gunfire. Five men had taken positions behind tables turned on their sides, and were firing at the kitchen. A quick glance told her that Loco was not among them.

‘Damn!’ she thought. ‘They’ll kill him!’

***

Aim. Fire. Fire twice again. Four down, four to go.

Gideon’s ghost ever present.

“Aim and fire, soldier!” always chuckling, always mocking.

Peek out of cover. One of the Expendables drawing an Uzi from the bag. Duck.

The hail of bullets chipped at the window ledge and the door. Loco had a feeling that the door wasn’t about to hold up against the barrage very well. He waited for the man to run out of bullets. His window would be when he stopped to reload.

Wait. Gauge direction of the Uzi. Focus.

He’s out. Spring up. Fire.

The man took the bullet in the chest, the Uzi falling out of his hands. The second slug rammed straight into his head. narrowing the score down to three, including Bane.

Just as he turned his gun on Bane, one of the remaining mercenaries fired his pistol. The bullets slammed into the wall in front of Loco’s face, sending chunks of concrete flying into his eyes.

“Shit!” he yelled, the gun falling from his hands. It clattered over the kitchen counter and onto the sidewalk outside. Loco crawled back inside, eyes hurting. Managing to keep one eye open, he found a jug of water and started rinsing his eyes.

Behind him, the door started falling apart under a series of kicks. Loco pulled his stiletto dagger out of the sheath beneath his jacket. Just as the door finally gave way, Loco rolled forward. He came up on his knees just as one of Bane’s mercenaries entered, and stuck the stiletto straight in his throat.

“Punctured the bugger’s throat,” Gideon chuckled in his head.

In the same movement, he grabbed the dead man’s gun out of his hand and rolled away from the door, coming to a stop with his back against the wall.

Stop. Breathe. Ready? Go.

Turn and rise. Aiming…what?

Bane’s last mercenary, who was advancing with his finger on the trigger, suddenly pitched forward. Loco saw the back of his head spout blood as he fell.

Loco stopped, confused. If that was the back up, why couldn’t he see them?

Bane stopped too. He turned around, his gun halfway up, not sure what to point at. Then his knees buckled and he fell down. Loco looked carefully. One of the legs was bleeding. Bane raised his gun at a dark alley across the street.

Loco raised his gun to stop him. However, Bane’s gun flew out of his hand. One more jerk and Bane lay still.

Loco cautiously raised himself to his full height just as the two unmarked cars slid to a halt at the café. Men in suits, guns drawn, poured towards the café. Loco recognized the leader, the chief of the local cell. Two more cars arrived, blocking his view of the alley completely.

As the men in suits surrounded him in a protective perimeter, Gloria slipped the silenced pistol inside her shoulder bag. Quietly, she picked up Gideon’s rucksack and left the alley as the crowd began to gather.

The Conversation

Just FYI, this is a new series, unconnected to the earlier one. Also, the last one - Flashback - was an independent story as well. The Loco the Hitman trilogy ended with 'Top Dog'. Hope you all like what I have to offer here

“I never did understand what exactly it is that you guys do,” she said, as Loco looked into his glass of iced tea. His chair afforded him a view of all those who passed by or approached the open-air café. However, a potential threat was the least of his worries right now.

“Apart from the fact that you’re soldiers, of course. Apart from whatever little you have told me about your work, I’ve noticed that all you guys ever talk about is guns, battlefields, maps…” she broke off.

Loco tried hard not to let his voice affect her. Once again, his mind flashed back to the time Gideon had introduced them, three years ago. They had acknowledged each other with polite greetings. As always, Loco offered a firm nod, looking straight into her eyes. That had been his first mistake.

“Covert ops,” Loco said. “Operations,” he clarified quickly. “We basically work on top secret missions for the government, in close co-operation with other governments. It’s ultra-classified. We don’t even know if there are other units like ours.”

The hint of a smile crossed her face.

“Even the comic books you read are all about war.”

Loco had to grin.

“Graphic novels,” he said.

She nodded.

“Which is just another way of saying comic books with nudity.”

Loco remembered arguing with her on this point for hours.

A ray of sunlight fell across her face, bathing it in a glow. Loco tried not to stare.

Over the next three years after their first meeting, Gideon had been instrumental in making them meet again several times. Loco had come to realise and accept the fact that there was definite attraction, which he could neither define nor try to deepen.

“Are you guys ever afraid?” she asked. There was genuine curiousity in her voice, like she’d always wondered but had never asked.

Loco shook his head. “Guys who’re afraid aren’t selected for our unit.”

“You mean they look for the crazy ones like you?”

“Something like that.”

“But you must feel something, if your jobs are so high-risk.”

Sierra Leone. 2002. Search and destroy mission.

“You feel it yet?” Gideon asked.

Loco knew what he meant. That feeling which begins at the base of your spine without your knowledge and creeps steadily up to your head when you see possible death coming your way.

“I’m getting there,” Loco replied.

“It’s hard to define. But yes, we do feel something.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“And you’re sure it’s not fear?”

“I know what fear feels like. I used to feel it a long time ago. Now, every dangerous situation is just another situation.”

Ethiopia. 2004. Assassination mission gone wrong.

“Is that a LAW I see on that hulk at the back?” Gideon muttered. The M72 Law was an anti tank rocket launcher. Both warriors knew only too well what it could do if fired at their crumbling single storey temporary shelter.

“Sitrep: ten men, eight M16s with grenade launchers, one LAW and one Barrett,” Loco counted off, looking through his binoculars. The sniper was already setting up his Barrett, aiming for the building. Within seconds, he would be ready to pepper the building with .50 mm rounds.

“And how do you guys deal with it?” she leaned forward, and Loco had trouble to make sure he didn’t look into her eyes directly.

“We get used to it, eventually. After a point, it’s just another feeling.”

Darfur. 2007. Flash raid.

“Guard’s down,” Loco whispered into his earpiece, laying the guard’s body down and pulling the knife out of his neck.

“This one too. Punctured the bugger’s throat,” Gideon chuckled from his end.

“We have 60 seconds to get the rest of them before the squad moves in.”

“Bet you we won’t need more than 45.”

“Don’t you feel like confiding in someone? All that killing…? Or does it become a habit as well? Do you talk about it amongst yourselves like we’d discuss shoes?”

The rise and fall of her voice was sending shivers up his spine. For the hundredth time, he told himself to get back in control.

Congo. 2008. Sabotage mission with faulty intel.

“I’ll take the two lookouts and the two sentries,” Gideon said, readying his Dragunov.

“I’ll take the patrol vehicle, then bust inside and C4 the fuel dump,” Loco responded.

“I’ll cover you. I counted at least five of them patrolling the inner area. Draw them out and I’ll cap their asses.”

“And I’ll deal with any remaining inside.”

“What’re you asking me?” Loco said.

“I’m asking you if you’re all cold blooded killers beneath this…this façade of professional soldiers!”

“Yes we are,” Loco leaned forward and for the first time, looking into her eyes didn’t affect him. “Yes, we are cold blooded, ruthless killers. But only with those who come to kill us. With those who have killed scores and wouldn’t even look at us as numbers in their list of victims. With them, we are their worst nightmare. Some of us have wives, some have kids, others ailing parents. And we tell them all we can tell them, and they understand. They have to.”

Afghanistan. 2010. Chase and kill.

“I’m going for the fuel tank. Let’s blow them to bits!” Loco roared into his earpiece over the sound of the Hummer’s engine, leaning out of the back seat through the open door.

“Hang on, get back in.” Gideon shouted. “I’m gonna ram the two bikers first; drive them right into that truck!”

“And then, one day…” her voice was a little more than a whisper.

Loco looked away and leaned back.

“Your luck runs out,” he said heavily. “It always does, sooner or later.”

Libya. 2011. Rescue mission.

“What, no false hopes for me?” Gideon was coughing blood.

“You know me better than that.”

“A lifetime of successful covert ops, and it’s a Libyan with a good throwing arm that gets me.”

Loco removed Gideon’s earpiece and opened up his shirt.

“Never saw the grenade coming. Bet I don’t look very pretty right now,” Gideon rasped.

“You ARE a freaking sight. Does it hurt?”

“Those kids get on the chopper?”

Loco could never be sure if Gideon saw him nod yes before dying.

She drained her cup and pushed it away. For a full minute, they both just sat there, trying to think of something to say. Then they both gave it up.

She pushed her chair back and slowly stood up.

“Your husband died a hero,” Loco said, not looking at her. “He was the best soldier I ever knew.”

She bent forward and picked up the rucksack containing Gideons’ personal effects.

“I know he was,” she said before walking away.

Flashback

“ENCORE!!”

They always called for encores when Loco fought. It was some thing to watch, the way he let his opponents tire themselves out, blocking and evading their attacks and then, in one unexpected moment, start raining attacks of his own. But most of all, they loved it that he seemed to be always smiling and laughing, even when taking hits. It was like the more he fought, the happier he was.

Loco smiled and grabbed a spectator’s handkerchief, wiping the sweat off his face and throwing it back. The man didn’t seem to mind.

“Bring it on!” Loco roared and the cheering intensified. His seventh opponent of the evening stepped into the ring.

The two men circled each other, eyes locked. His opponent, an immensely built man nicknamed Feather, moved first.

The punch would have made a small hole in a concrete wall. It missed Loco’s face by centimeters, who quickly stepped farther back. Feather came forward and threw another punch, which Loco again evaded and danced away.

Loco was getting bored already. But he knew that people paid a lot of money so they could watch these fights, and wasn’t about to end this one so quickly. He began stealing quick glances around the basement, which was only one of the several venues of the fights.

Sensing a drop in the decibel levels, Loco threw a look at the entrance while dodging a kick to the ribs. What he saw almost made him forget to duck as Feather aimed his next blow.

Twirling out of harm’s way at the last minute, he ran his eyes over a grinning Leone, a bemused Bellona and a shocked Celine.

He fell to the ground to avoid Feather’s swinging fists, then started rolling away as the bigger man tried stamping on his face. As he reached the end of the ring with nowhere to escape, Loco quickly threw both hands forward, palms out and caught the coming foot in his hands. The impact sent waves of pain through his arms, which he ignored and twisted, felling the tree-like man to the ground. Loco was on his feet and hopping before Feather could pick himself up.

Risking another glance at the three new entrants, he deduced what must have happened. Leone, in his enthusiasm to surprise Bellona and Celine, must have offered to take them to a place they had never seen before. He knew it would surprise them to see Loco fighting there, and that it would surprise Loco to see Celine and Bellona. Surprises all around.

As Feather came at Loco with more caution this time, Loco wondered how Leone would react if he had any idea what he had really done.

If only you’d known, buddy, he thought.

As Feather’s fist shot toward him, he stopped hopping and took it fully in the chest. Sound started dropping in the basement as Loco stumbled backward but regained his footing before he could fall. Even Feather was surprised.

A film seemed to fall over Loco’s eyes, and his mind went into flashback.

He was mustering the courage to talk to her the first time when Feather landed another punch in the chest.

He was trying to break her cool, distant demeanor when Feather followed up with a third punch, this time to the stomach, making him bend over.

He was smarting after being told off by her, his attempts at friendly flirting having been rebuffed when Feather grabbed him by the hair and straightened him.

He was finally detecting some warmth in her behaviour when Feather drove his fist into his face. Loco hadn’t tasted his own blood for quite some time now.

He was garnering hope from her warmth, trying to steel himself to ask if she would like to go out with him sometime when Feather drove his knee into Loco’s abdomen. This time, he let Loco fall to the ground.

He was learning from her friends that she was committed to someone else as Feather kicked him in the ribs.

He was discussing her boyfriend with her when Feather grabbed his throat and pulled him to his feet.

“It’s knock-out time,” Feather gasped.

“Gladly,” Loco responded. His hand shot out, palm open and outwards, and the heel of his palm crushed Feather’s nose. The hand quickly folded, and the elbow crashed sideways into Feather’s jaw, breaking it. The other hand followed, the closed fist ramming into the side of Feather’s turned head.

Feather dropped to the ground with a thud that resounded across the silent basement. Loco spat blood from his mouth.

Then he smiled a bloody smile and walked out of the ring before they could call for an encore.

Top Dog

Have continued the Loco story further. Please refer to two earlier posts for background

They called him Top Dog.

In the shady world of assassins where loyalty is a commodity and trust is a joke, nobody revealed their real names any more.

He ran a tightly knit band of expert killers and made sure they were happy. Happy meaning well paid. He prided himself on being super-efficient and ruthless when it came to managing them.

As Top Dog stepped out of the travels agency that served as a front for his real profession, he mulled over the phone call he had received half an hour ago.

“Catfoot’s been taken care of. It’s a small brief in a couple of newspapers today,” Loco told him.

True enough, the brief was about a man found dead in his car on the western express highway. Top Dog had particularly liked Loco’s touch of claiming the dead body himself, posing as Catfoot’s brother.

Top Dog locked his office and began walking along the row of shops to his right, taking care to stay on the pavement. It was harder for snipers to get you that way, with all the telephone and electricity poles and lamp posts lining pavements. He would only have to leave cover once, to cross the street to get to the railway station, which he would do with a quick dash. Nobody could shoot that fast or accurately.

Top Dog didn’t drive. Stupid people took the risk of being run off the road or bombed by using cars. he preferred the crowded public transport, which drastically reduced the chances of a hit. As for surprise attacks, he could still put up a mean fight and was ready for one all the time.

As he walked on, he mulled over Loco. The rascal had successfully interpreted his intentions and come out alive. However, Top Dog was willing to bet that Loco was at this moment planning to kill him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to forgive someone who had tried to get him killed. And certainly not the type of fool who would trust Top Dog ever again.

As he passed an alley between two buildings, he heard a soft footfall behind him and chuckled. The revenge seemed to be coming sooner than expected. He took off his mirrored glasses and pretended to examine them, and saw a man reflected in the glass. He was of medium height, well built, clad in black and was keeping his distance.

The man quickened his pace as Top Dog approached another alley, the last one he would pass before leaving the pavement and crossing the street. His instincts told him that the alley had been slated to be the last place he would ever see. Top Dog slowly reached inside his jacket and fingered the handle of the stiletto knife in the inner pocket, expecting to be tackled from the left and pushed into the alley to his right.

The man behind him, however, surprised him by tackling him from the right. Top Dog quickly recovered, drew his knife and buried it deep inside the man’s chest while the latter was still struggling to get a stranglehold. He had a syringe in his hands, and was trying to pierce Top Dog’s neck with it.

“The heart-failure serum, Loco?” Top Dog whispered. The man struggled further, pushing the syringe closer in spite of the blade twisting in his chest. With one powerful blow, Top Dog hit the syringe out of the man’s hand and dragged him off the pavement into the street. A nearby street lamp illuminated his face and an alarm went off in Top Dog’s head.

The man wasn’t Loco.

The next instant, Top Dog’s head exploded in a mass of blood and brain. His hands released his hold on his assailant, who staggered away, the knife still protruding from his chest. A van came around the corner at full speed, skidding to a halt near him and he got in. A fully equipped medical team was cutting away the man’s shirt even before the van started moving again.

On the terrace of a building across the street, Loco had already finished dismantling the silenced sniper rifle and was placing the parts in the case. ten seconds later, he was walking away from Top Dog, who was already dead. Fifteen seconds later, the crowd started forming around the dead body.

Going Soft

A sequel/continuation to the earlier post on demand by my friend Sanket Kambli aka Sankoobaba. Please refer to earlier post, titled ‘…And Fighting It Ain’t No Use’ for background.

“That was easy,” Loco’s partner said, relaxing in the front passenger seat.

As the car made its way towards Borivali, Loco kept the speed at a moderate level.

The duo had driven past the building in Santacruz, and a single pass had been enough for them to take stock of the meager security, which consisted of one watchman dozing on a plastic chair at the entrance. Despite robberies and murders being on the rise, people continued to be surprisingly lax about security, and only a few who could be bothered really made an effort at securing their homes and offices. Their targets had clearly chosen the place due to its anonymity. It was like any other poorly guarded residential building in Mumbai’s suburbs.

After parking the car several buildings away, Loco had removed his jacket to reveal a black t-shirt to go with his black denims and shoes. His partner had changed clothes in the back seat on the way. They then checked their silenced Berettas and spare ammunition clips. The guns went into shoulder holsters and the clips in pockets. The duo then pulled on shirts over their t-shirts to conceal the guns and silently made their way back to the building in the cover of the darkness.

“You did a good job with the watchman,” Loco said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Why do you think they call me Catfoot?” his partner chuckled.

The dozing watchman never knew what hit him as Catfoot sneaked up from behind and pressed two fingers to his jugular vein, rendering him unconscious. Loco and Catfoot then made their way to the third floor, unbuttoning their shirts on the way. Outside the door of the target house, Loco pulled out his cell phone and activated a special application. Ten seconds later, the phone vibrated, and the heat-scanner program told him that there were three people of medium build, lying prostrate beyond the front door, with pieces of metal near their bodies. In other words, the three targets were sleeping in the living room, armed and ready for attack.

“They never had a chance, did they? Not with the two of us,” Catfoot continued.

Loco shot the lock twice, the silenced gun hardly making a sound. However, the noise of the wood splintering was enough to wake their targets, who were up with their guns ready in six seconds. Unfortunately for them, Loco and Catfoot each had one of them in their sight in three seconds, the heat-signature readers having given the two hitmen an idea of their positions. Loco and Catfoot shot their respective targets twice in rapid succession, and at the fifth second, both silenced guns were pointing at the third man. At the sixth second, both guns spat lead. The bullets hit the third target’s chest within centimeters of each other. At the tenth second, Loco and Catfoot were calmly making their way downstairs, buttoning their shirts.

“The best part was no cleaning up,” Catfoot added.

Loco nodded.

“The boss was very clear. It had to look like a murder. The clients want to send a message.”

“Damn,” Catfoot sighed. “I miss the excitement of making our kills look like accidents. Everybody seems to want to make a statement these days.”

“Yeah, people talk too much. Only they do it through messages now.”

Catfoot chuckled.

“You got something to drink?” he asked.

Loco pointed behind him. Catfoot looked at the rear passenger seat, saw a bag and reached for it. Going through its contents, he came up with a miniature of vodka and happily broke the seal.

“You’re the best, partner,” he said, taking a sip. “Always ready for everything.”

Loco said nothing.

“So, will you miss her?” Catfoot asked several sips later.

Loco shrugged. “Maybe. Hard not to miss someone like that.”

“Strange. Never thought you’d fall that hard for someone.”

“Me neither. But when I thought about her, I suddenly wanted to change. If and when I told her how I felt about her, I didn’t want her to look at me and see something she’d cringe from,” Loco said reflectively.

“Not happening now, is it?” Catfoot asked.

“I don’t think so, no.”

Catfoot patted Loco’s shoulder.

“You’re a funny one. You talk about her, and you all but go misty eyed. But back in that room, you were a machine,” he said.

Loco nodded. After a long moment, he said, “The boss should have never doubted me.”

He didn’t have to turn his head to know that Catfoot had stiffened imperceptibly.

“It wasn’t just one job, was it? When you called the boss to confirm you were on the job, it turned into a double,” Loco went on.

Catfoot said nothing. He didn’t need to.

“What was it; put a bullet in me after all three were killed? Leave the guns with the bodies?”

After a long silence and three sips of vodka, Catfoot asked, “How did you know.”

Loco met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I’ve worked for him for seven years, dimwit,” he said, his voice sharp.

Loco went on softly, “You only had once chance, though. When I entered the room ahead of you. It was the only time I had my back to you. The rest of the time, I had you covered.”

Catfoot leaned back in his seat and tugged at the neck of his t-shirt.

“What happens now?” he asked, not looking at his partner.

Loco sighed.

“I’m sorry, Catfoot. It wasn’t just a double. I think it was a test too,” he said.

“A test?”

“For me,” Loco said, “You seem to have forgotten that I keep my liquor in my glove compartment. That bag in the back…it’s for my targets.”

For more than a minute, a deadly silence hung in the air. Then Catfoot turned to Loco with disbelief in his eyes.

“Remember, I used to offer you a drink, and you’d always go for the glove compartment. You used to know about the bag. You’re starting to forget, Catfoot, and you went soft…you failed to shoot me,” Loco’s tone was almost casual.

“I had no reason to…you performed beautifully back there…the boss would have…”

“No, he wouldn’t have. We both know that all the boss cares about is running a tight ship, and you turned out to be a loose cog.”

“How long?” Catfoot asked.

“Around five minutes now. It’ll be painless. I’ve used it before.”

“A test, huh?”

Loco nodded.

“I guess the boss wants to make sure I haven’t gone soft.”

The next day, the newspapers were full of a triple murder in Santacruz. None of them thought much about a man found dead in his car on a lane near the western express highway. After all, post mortem reports had confirmed that he had died to heart failure, and all the paperwork in the car indicated that it was his car.

Any chance of mystery was eliminated when the body was claimed by the victims’ brother, a well built, silent man of medium height, who calmly produced medical certificates confirming the deceased’s chronic heart condition. A keen observer might have noticed an ‘L’ hanging by a silver chain from his neck, and the picture of a beautiful girl in his wallet.

...And Fighting It Ain't No Use

“The pasta’s good,” Loco said.

Across the table, his partner nodded.

“I especially like the way they make it over here. One of the best places for Italian cuisine in Mumbai, this. But we’re wandering. We were discussing…”

“I know, I know. But you know what? Shit happens.”

“Shit does happen. But this easily gets classified as one of the top three weird things I’ve heard of till date.”

Loco said nothing.

“You know, for a minute, when the Boss told me you wanted to quit, I thought it was some elaborate joke. Then he told me why you were doing it, and somehow, I believed it. I mean, only you can quit doing something you’re best at for a girl,” his partner said.

“THE girl,” Loco corrected.

“What’s the difference?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” Loco said, sipping his drink. “But basically, A girl is just another girl, but THE girl is the one……well, the one you quit being a killer for, simply speaking.”

“Right, right,” his partner nodded.

A silence followed as both men focused on their food.

“There isn’t a chance, is there? For anything between you and her?” his partner finally asked.

Loco shook his head.

“However much I’d like to say otherwise, there doesn’t seem to be any chance.”

“Damn sad.”

“You believe in destiny?” Loco suddenly asked.

“Say what?”

“Destiny, fate, karma…that sort of thing? You know, stuff that says there’s a grand plan for all of us, and fighting it ain’t no use?”

“Not really. That would mean I’m taking my orders to kill people from the Almighty, not the Boss,” Loco’s partner chuckled. Loco didn’t laugh.

“It was almost like destiny,” Loco said pensively. “Almost like…you know, someone or something didn’t want me to change. As if this is what I’m supposed to be and the minute I try to stop being that, this fate-destiny thing intervenes…”

“Hey, Brooding Hitman, can it. You’re freaking me out,” Loco’s partner said uneasily. “Look, give it a rest, okay? Don’t think so much. You’re disturbed right now. But…”

“I was disturbed,” Loco said, pushing away his plate. His partner sat back and stared expressionlessly at the change that seemed to come over Loco in a moment. “I was thinking it’s damn unfair that after years of leaving nothing to hope or chance, the one thing that I sincerely hoped for could not happen.”

Loco paused, then went on.

“I spoke to the Boss in the evening.”

“And…?”

Loco sat back and locked eyes with his partner.

“Three men. Staying in Santacruz. Armed.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Deadline?” his partner asked then.

“24 hours. Boss says it’s a sensitive matter and they need to be eliminated quickly.”

“Hardware?”

“Two Berettas, loaded and silenced, in the trunk of my car. Two spare ammo clips. And I got a change of clothes and a mask for you.”

Loco’s partner gazed steadily for several seconds. Then he turned to a passing waiter.

“Buddy…can we have the check please?”

Loco returns

Ok, I have no clue as to what was the logic, purpose, point, etc behind this one. but it kept playing inside my head, and I had to write it. Just me, i guess

________________________________________


Lying on a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of him, he thought about the last 35 years and felt no regrets.

They called him Loco, and the veteran cop lived up to his name. Infamous for a temper and violent ways of dealing with criminals, Loco had ended up in the operation theatre of the hospital after a confrontation with a drug Mafioso had gone horribly wrong. What was supposed to have been a simple arrest turned out to be a bullet-fest when the druglord’s henchmen stormed out of his liar, guns blazing. Loco had managed to shoot all three of them, but had taken three bullets in the chest and two in the stomach in the process. The Mafioso had been jerked out of his hiding place under his office table and dragged to jail.

After a three hour long surgery where surgeons and nurses struggled to deal with the damage caused to several of his vital organs, a barely conscious Loco was wheeled into the Intensive Care unit. He was now thinking about the innumerable encounters with criminals in which he had always come out the winner. His partner always said he had a death wish.

Damn right I did, Loco thought.

He wasn’t worried. Every criminal that he had taken an interest in was either dead or in jail. Those from the latter category had slim chance to walk free; Loco had seen to that by providing enough evidence for the state to present a watertight case in court. He had lived life the way he wanted to, and was now going down in the proverbial blaze of glory.

Floating in a world that exists between consciousness and unconsciousness, he became aware of his partner and immediate boss beside him.

“We’re losing him,” his partner said.

As if in corroboration, the cardiograph emitted a beep, indicating erratic heartbeat.

“What do the doctors say?” Loco’s boss asked.

“Chances are slim. The damage is extensive.”

So I’m dying. Big freaking deal, Loco thought. Cheer up partner. At least I’m not leaving the job unfinished.

“Crazy devil! Pitting his handgun against those assault rifles!”

“That’s how he always was”

The cardiograph beeped again. There was a doctor in the room now. The heartbeat and other vital signs were getting increasingly erratic, and Loco could hear the doctor issue several instructions which were so full of medical jargon that he had no clue what the doctor had just said.

At about the same time two nurses rushed into the room, a cell phone buzzed. For two minutes after that, there was only silence. Then Loco’s boss spoke.

“The drug dealer’s escaped. Snatched a gun, shot two cops and jumped out of the police jeep while being moved for security reasons.”

The cardiograph was beeping continuously now. Heart rate was low and breathing was laboured.

Time ceased to exist as realization permeated Loco’s consciousness. The bastard had escaped. He had also shot two cops. His death was going to be in vain after all.

Not if I can help it, Loco thought savagely.

The cardiograph beeped. The heartbeat stabilized just a little bit.

I hate drug dealers, and I especially despise those that kill cops

Another beep. More stability.

You’re going down, you sorry piece of shit. You’re gonna wish you’d listened to your mother and become a good man

Loco didn’t even realize that he had just taken a deep breath without any problems. The cardiograph showed a steady heart rate.

“He’s coming back to us. I wouldn’t be too hopeful, thought. It could be momentary,” the doctor told his partner and boss.

Momentary, my ass. The sod better watch out for me now.

The heart rate stayed steady.

Holiday Memoir II

12:01am, January 11, 2011,
Grand plaza hotel,
Coimbatore

Three days gone. Shopping, boat-rides, lazing around, fun.

I think I now realize why it matters so much to hear a known language in a strange land.

Our room in Kodai had been getting a lot of calls from other guests at the hotel, whose calls to food and beverages were somehow being routed to mine and Ninad’s room. On Sunday, a Mr Patil, I forget his room number, called saying he wished to order dinner.

On previous occasions I’d politely made the callers aware of the blunder and told them to call room service. However, when Mr Patil apologized for the error, I told him that had I started taking orders from guests, I’d have made a nice little packet for myself, going by the number of calls that had come since we checked in. we both laughed and hung up.

I realized that, pride in one’s language and all that apart, it is the ability of being able to joke with someone who understands the nuances of the language that lends comfort in a place where conversation is restricted to making the other person understand that you want a Baingan Bharta and not a Baingan Parotha (what the heck???). In case anyone’s wondering, we ultimately ordered a Bhindi Masala.

I have never been much of a travel person, lesser still a sight seeing person. However, sightseeing in Kodai turned out to be more fun than I had imagined. I especially remember Pillar Rocks, three giant rock faces standing side by side like pillars, several thousand feet high. Climbing up the hill amidst the thick blanket of mist brought back the adrenaline I used to feel while working out, and I picked my up the steep slope with great enthusiasm. At the peak, a guide pointed out ‘Suicide Point’, where 33 couples have supposedly jumped to their deaths, hand in hand, fed up of the world and its staunch refusal to understand them.



We later viewed Pillar Rocks from a nearby vantage point, much lower. We stood there and saw the mist move in and completely cover the three rocks in a matter of minutes, and then clear away equally fast.


Another place I liked was the Kodai lake, a huge water body shaped like a star, where you can rent boats by the hour and peddle or row to your heart’s content. It was so much fun that we went back the next day. While Mom satisfied herself with riding a horse along the lake’s border, me and Ninad went boating on our own, peddling away till our legs ached. All the time, I was manipulating the steering rod and yelling nautical stuff like “another vessel approaches” and “full speed ahead!”.



The streets of Kodai are lined with shops selling home made chocolates and eucalyptus oil. There must be hundred of eucalyptus trees there, giving rise to a small industry in itself. Chocolates flavours range from plain and dark chocolates to more tempting versions like dry-fruit delight and strawberry cream.

At the end of the trip, I came to the conclusion that a outstation holiday once in a while isn’t such a bad idea after all.





{More to follow in the next post}

Holiday Memoir I

10:45 pm, January 7, 2011,
Kodai Resort Hotel,
Kodaikanal.

The last thing I remember seeing as our kingfisher airlines flight took off from Mumbai is looking down on a vast congestion of architecture which was almost claustrophobia-inducing. The first thing I remember seeing as our flight descended towards Coimbatore was the sheer abundance of open spaces and trees.

The heat assailed us as we stepped off the plane and walked to the terminal, causing us to peel off our sweaters. It gave rise to doubts regarding all the reports we’d heard about how cold it would be over here. However, the chill started setting in as we neared Kodaikanal, and we were definitely shivering by the time we checked in.

We set off in the pre-arranged for Indica, driven by the non-Hindi speaking Vijay, who turned out to be a Tamil version of James Bond when it came to driving. Towards the end of the five-hour drive, I realised that James Bond seems to run in the blood of almost everyone who can drive in these parts.

We stopped for lunch after around two hours at a hotel in a town on the way, but it was full of Ayyappa pilgrims who were getting off tourist bus after tourist bus. We finally ate some delicious lemon rice with sambhar and a pungent pickle at a wayside eatery with all of three items on the menu: lemon rice, tomato rice and curd rice. I spent the rest of the journey mostly sleeping.

Till we reached the ghat leading up to Kodai, that is. Vijay Bond’s stunt driving began worrying me after that. I finally decided to go back to sleep rather than wait for every oncoming truck to click us off the ghat, heck-knows-how-many miles down to our death.


Throughout the holiday, Vijay kept up his efforts to make us feel as if we were on a rollercoaster instead of in an Indica. My cousin Ninad later pointed out something very interesting: every time some motorist refused to let Vijay overtake him, Vijay would overtake him anyway, and pause to stare murderously at the poor driver for good effect. I've attempted to capture one of the dangerous moments in this picture.

However, Vijay is a gem of a person. He suggested places where we could shop and eat, and even came with us on our shopping spree in Tirupur to help us bargain, as he knew we didn’t speak the local language.

A driver of a hired vehicle is someone who is always with you till the vacation ends, and we have to be thankful that it was someone like Vijay, and not some shady, cheating crook hell bent on squeezing every penny out of us.




Vijay poses with Ninad and me outside the Coimbatore Airport just before we leave for Mumbai


(More in the next post)